Run 456
The Pack
Missing Link, Cheap Slut, Stained Sheets, Hard Drive, Wet & Wild, Cross Hares, Dr Jekyll, Bavarian Bush, Byte Lightning, Slick Slit, Continental Drip, Topless Skateboarding Nun, Red Snapper, Poop Deck, Eat It Raw, Wankers Aweigh, Captain Titanic, Mud Buns, Pit Stop, Spreadsheets, Hands Solo, Dual Airbags, Dud Finder, Steamer, Wilburr, Lick It Off, Baby!, Foul Balls, Slip-Not, Burnt Sox, No Class, RutRo, Sweet Cheeks, Hollow Point, Spinal Tap, Milk Money, Achy Breaky Fart, Yes Dear, Layover, Dahmer, Hasher Humper, Short Round, No Genitals, All Hands On Dick, Sexual Her Ass Meant, Dumb Blonde, Richard Wagner, Kit Arbo, Go Nad, Family Jewels, For Sale or Rent, Only On Top, Penduin, Rick Seale, JoAnn Wiecorkowski, Blow In Place, Nick Gemoets, A.W. Lee, and Pecker Checker
The Run
After wrestling with the PUDJAM recording system most of the day Friday, I was ready for a nice relaxing hash on Saturday. The sun was shining, it wasn't too hot (yet), and the hares had thoughtfully produced a cooler with beer & sodas on ice for the pack to enjoy before the start. What a lovely way to start the day, the only item lacking was fresh-squeezed orange juice, right Tore Ass (or did you keep that for yourself). I handed over my box of newly-printed trashes to Tore Ass with the instructions that I need him to start distributing them at the On In, since I have slipped into back-of-the-pack status of late. 'Hey, Steamer, you NEVER KNOW when you might be an FRB!' was Tore Ass's sanguine reply. How true his words turned out to be; but Lord, what a trail (or is that 'trial') we had ahead of us!
The hares were in a merry mood. More Leggs and Tore Ass certainly seemed to enjoy their rubber chicken down-down before the start. Off they went, in a cloud of flour. Father A was presented courtesy of Burnt Sox and Hard Drive, who gave us a somewhat abbreviated rendition; but what the heck, who needs a warmup on such a lovely Spring day? Soon we were off ourselves, interrupting traffic throughout the Landmark parking lot. There was general confusion at the first check, unusual only because we actually found the first check! Soon the pack squeezed through a chain link fence opening, down through slippery underbrush (shouts of 'Watch out for the PI I just ran through!'), and over to another chain link fence, where I optimistically tossed over my notepad and hashit, got halfway over the fence, and no farther. Wankers took off parallel to the drainage stream on the other side of the fence, claiming to know where we could get through the fence. Sure enough, about 50 yard!
s down there was a nice opening, a
nd I only lost a couple of minutes going back for my gear. Funny, many hashers I saw on my way back were curious if I was on trail.
After retrieving my gear I was back on trail, through a wide tunnel, down to a creek, and across to a nature preserve, where No Class and Sweet Cheeks were heard to utter: 'Uh-Oh, I think I just ran through somebody's garden!' Perhaps it is time that we require the hares to do Environmental Impact Studies on their trails; then again, they didn't ask for permission to run on private property this day either, so maybe we should take things one step at a time. On through a patch of woods, and suddenly the pack was threading into a large muddy construction area. I noticed one construction supervisor-looking individual starting to look pissed off at the sight of hashers fouling his lovely construction site, so I picked up the pace and entered the cover of the adjoining woods. That was the last of the trail any of us would see for the next half hour. Most of the pack behind me was turned around by the construction workers.
When we finally emerged from the woods, Mud Buns, Dual Air Bags, Wilburr, All Hands formed a pseudo-pack and headed around to where we thought the trail might exit the construction site. No flour. Wilburr and I concocted a brilliant, systematic method for regaining trail: Wilburr would circle the construction site in a counter-clockwise direction, and I would circle in a clockwise fashion whence we had just come; when one of us found trail, we would whistle and wait for the other before proceeding. Simple plan, right?
All Hands followed me back the way we had come, and 100 yards into our backtrack we heard Wilburr's whistle! We immediately turned around and started looking for Wilburr and the flour. What we found was Cheap Slut, Hollow Point, RutRo, Poop Deck, and others on true trail! Surely, Wilburr was up ahead. (Wrong. Wilburr ran right past true trail and was scouring the woods looking for Steamer.) On On!
Trail went through some parks, and eventually through a hilly group of apartments. The pack checked out several BTs before finally settling on one path which led to a main road (Beauregard St?), and then no flour was to be found in ANY direction. Several FRBs (Dr J, Burnt Sox) were found to have circled back to this area, having sought trail to no avail. After thrashing about a bit, Poop Deck, Spinal Tap, Hasher Humper and Steamer lit out for the cars; on our way back, we picked up trail at the entrance to the parking garage for Landmark Plaza shopping center. Lo, on the top level was a pickup truck with cold beverage and a MAP with directions to the On In. We were soon followed by Missing Link and Dr J, both of whom cursed the hares for such a shitty trail. Dr J was found to have circled back to the point where he was running with Slip-Not, in search of true trail. It dawned on me that I would not have to take the hashit to the altar after all!
>From this point in, it was simply a matter of following the directions. There was no telling where the LONG trail might have led, and I never did find anyone that took it. More Leggs later claimed that she set the trail from the beer check to the On In, and blamed the entire front part of the trail on Tore Ass. Tore Ass, for his part, missed a large portion of the On In whilst looking for lost hashers (there were many). Anyway, Poop Deck and I had a nice chat on the way On In, which was tucked between two apartment buildings off of Duke St. Give me a f'in beer!
The Circle
I was about the fifth or sixth On In, the closest I've been to FRB status in quite some time. The hares provided hot potatos and chili, and assorted munchies to forestall our utter starvation from the death march.
The Circle didn't start for a long time; like in Bosnia, you have to take your time gathering evidence against War Criminals like our hares on this day. Talking to folks coming in, War Criminal was about the mildest term I heard in reference to the hares. Wankers Aweigh came in bleeding from a nasty scraped knee; he was attended to. It seemed that there were numerous cuts and bruises this day, fortunately none serious. I was sure that numerous cases of PI would be reported in the coming week [Editor's note: I picked up a nasty patch of PI that surfaced Monday morning. Death to the Hares!!!] Many wankers grabbed bags and lit out for the cars immediately. The hashit wouldn't be mine much longer...
Hard Drive remarked that 'these apartment dwellers are going to hate us when we get the circle started.' Stained Sheets, in reference to the trail replied, 'Yeah, and I'll be ready to hate them right back!'
Eventually we had a quorum and commenced the Circle. First the hares (with Tore Ass in absentia, ISO the pack). Then new cummers Nick, JoAnn (and A.W. Lee?); followed by returners Family Jewels, Penduijn, No Genitals, among others. The anniversarians were next: Cheap Slut (335), Slick Slit (169), Hands Solo (85), and Foul Balls (65). Visitors included: Only On Top and one other White House female.
Violators were many: Spinal Tap, guilty of Creativity, had written and submitted a writeup of the InterAmerica's Hash '95 for the Euro Trash; further he incriminated Wilburr, Tore Ass, and S'not by including their pictures with the article! Well done, Spinal Tap! Too bad that two of the other Violators mentioned here were in search of each other out on trail, or they would have a down-down too! Maybe next week...
Sweet Cheeks was found guilty of yet another in a string of Fashion Statements, as was Milk Money (although having birdshit on your shirt isn't much of a fashion statement). Burnt Sox was guilty of trying to catch a cab, and No Class was guilty of telling Mud Buns that today's trail would be a 'city run'.
Next, a huge percentage of hashers made the On In: led by the soon-to-be-named Dumb Blonde, they included Short Round, Dahmer, Wilburr ('Steamer, where the fuck have you been? I waited for you!!!' 'Drinking beer, of course!'), Dud Finder, Foul Balls, Family Jewels, Red Snapper, Yes Dear, Pit Stop, Pecker Checker, Layover, and Richard Wagner (the hasher, not the famous dead composer). Well Done, hashers, and to any that I may have missed!
We spent a long time deciding what to name of Sexual Her Ass Meant (Deb) and Dumb Blonde (Bob). Both these wanks were smart enough not to object to these designations
Delegating the hashit was another of those unanimous affairs, and More Leggs accepted it with relish, if not grace. ML, you need to work on your down-down technique, or you'll never get rid of it! We grumbled our way through Swing Low and 'went the fuck home.'